Ji-Hyun was leaning against the railing outside the hospital when Marvello stepped into the daylight.
He straightened immediately, eyes flicking over her face the way people did when they were checking for damage they weren't allowed to ask about.
"You're done?" he asked.
"Yes."
He nodded once, relieved—and then added, almost defensively, "I didn't want to go in."
Marvello paused beside him. The hospital doors slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical sigh.
"Why?" she asked.
Ji-Hyun looked away, toward the street. Cars moved past too quickly, indifferent.
"Because visiting Naoki would've meant pretending I care how he feels," he said. "And I don't trust myself to fake that."
Marvello studied him for a second longer than necessary.
"That's honest," she said.
"It's also safer," Ji-Hyun replied. "For everyone."
They started walking.
The city opened up in front of them—glass, steel, sunlight bouncing off polished surfaces.
That was when Marvello saw her.
Across the street, standing before the entrance of a towering corporate building, was Aunt Mary.
Elegant. Impeccable. Dressed in soft neutrals that screamed money without ever raising their voice.
She laughed lightly at something a man beside her said, hand resting casually on his arm, posture relaxed like the world had never once resisted her.
She looked… victorious.
Marvello stopped.
Something sharp pressed behind her ribs—not anger exactly.
Revulsion.
The kind that crawled up your spine when you realized how well evil could accessorize itself.
She didn't speak. She didn't move.
Ji-Hyun noticed immediately.
"What is it?" he asked, following her line of sight.
He saw Aunt Mary.
Saw the smile.
The confidence. Then he looked back at Marvello's face—and understood there was history there he hadn't been told.
"Hey," he said gently. "Do you want to sit somewhere? There's a coffee shop just around the corner."
Marvello blinked once.
The image across the street burned itself into memory—Aunt Mary turning slightly, sunlight catching her earrings, looking like someone who had won.
"Yes," Marvello said. Her voice was steady. Too steady. "That would be good."
They turned away.
The coffee shop was warm and dim, a deliberate contrast to the glassy arrogance outside.
Wood tables.
Low music. The smell of roasted beans grounding and familiar.
They took a seat near the window.
Marvello pulled out her phone, fingers precise. She typed one message.
Meet us here. Now. An-Bal Coffee shop.
Amanda replied almost instantly.
On my way 😊
Marvello set the phone down and wrapped her hands around the cup Ji-Hyun slid toward her. The heat seeped into her palms.
"She looked happy," Ji-Hyun said quietly.
Marvello didn't answer right away. She watched steam curl upward, then dissipate.
"She always does," she said at last. "That's how she survives."
Ji-Hyun frowned. "You hate that."
"Yes."
No elaboration. None needed.
Outside the window, the city kept moving. Inside, something had shifted. The hospital visit. Naoki's focus. Aunt Mary's smile. Amanda's timing.
This wasn't coincidence anymore.
The door chimed.
Amanda stepped in, bright as ever—eyes sharp, smile perfectly misplaced. She spotted them and waved lightly, like this was a casual meeting and not the quiet start of something irreversible.
Marvello looked up.
The discussion they'd been circling was about to begin
--
The bell above the café door chimed softly.
Marvello looked up.
Amanda stepped inside, sunlight clinging to her like it had followed her on purpose. Her coat was buttoned neatly, hair smooth, expression open—pleasant in the way that never asked permission.
She scanned the room once, then spotted them.
Ji-Hyun had fallen asleep.
His head rested against the back of the booth, lashes shadowing his cheeks, breathing slow and even.
He looked untouched by everything—peaceful in a way that felt borrowed.
Amanda noticed him too.
She didn't comment. She just smiled.
Not fond. Not amused. Simply… acknowledging. As if noting a detail that might matter later.
She slid into the seat across from Marvello without a sound.
"You saw her," Amanda said quietly.
Marvello's fingers tightened around her cup. "Yes."
Amanda leaned back slightly, waiting.
"In front of a corporate building," Marvello continued. "Elegant. Smiling. Like the world had never cost her anything."
Amanda's smile didn't fade. It sharpened.
"Of course she was," she said softly. "Mary always performs best when she thinks she's won."
Marvello finally looked directly at her. The café's low light caught her eyes—dark, steady, resolved.
"She's the reason my mother is dead," Marvello said.
Amanda nodded once.
"Jealousy," Marvello went on. "Greed. She wanted what my mother built—and when she couldn't take it cleanly, she took it anyway." Her voice lowered.
"The cosmetic business. My mother's name. Her work."
Ji-Hyun shifted slightly in his sleep but didn't wake.
Amanda glanced at him once more, then back at Marvello. "Then we don't start with anger," she said. "We start with work."
Marvello exhaled slowly. The crack from earlier sealed into something harder.
"Yes," she agreed. "We start with our work."
Amanda's tone stayed light, almost conversational. "Mary understands reputation. Ownership. Visibility." A pause. "We'll let her keep smiling—for now."
Marvello set her cup down carefully. "And then we take it back. Piece by piece."
Amanda smiled again—cheerful, unsettling, exact. "Revenge doesn't begin with destruction," she said. "It begins with correction."
Outside the café window, the city reflected itself endlessly in glass.
Inside, the first name had been chosen.
Mary.
And this time, no one was pretending it was coincidence.
--
Mary's voice floated through the open windows, smooth and controlled, the way it always was when she spoke about unpleasant things.
"Everything that ties back to her is gone," Mary said, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist.
"People don't keep what they can't prove."
Nairo stood across from her, posture tense, eyes hard. "Except proof has a way of surviving intent."
Mary scoffed. "We cleaned the records. We buried the past."
Nairo's jaw tightened. "Then explain why the house property document still hasn't turned up."
Mary stopped pacing. "It will. Or it won't matter."
"It will matter," Nairo said. "If that document surfaces, the transfer collapses. The business, the house—everything."
Outside the gate, Amanda slowed her steps.
She hadn't meant to stop. Her pink shirt clung lightly to her skin, denim shorts brushing her legs as she walked, hair loose and catching the afternoon light. To anyone watching, she looked careless. Uninvolved.
She heard Mary laugh.
"They're dead," Mary said. "What exactly do you think will resurface?"
Nairo's voice dropped. "Documents don't die."
Amanda's fingers curled once—just once—around the strap of her bag.
Then Nairo turned.
His eyes locked on her through the open gate.
Amanda froze like someone caught mid-thought.
"What are you doing there?" Nairo called.
Only then did she smile.
"Oh! Hi," she said, stepping forward casually. "Sorry—I just returned and saw the gate open. I came here to get some water It's boiling out here."
Mary glanced past Nairo, eyes softening immediately. "Of course, sweetheart. Come in."
Nairo didn't move.
His gaze stayed on Amanda as she walked past him, light on her feet, thanking Mary politely as she accepted the glass. Her hand was steady. Her expression easy.
Too easy.
She took a sip, wiped her mouth, and handed the glass back. "Thank you so much."
When she turned to leave, Nairo followed.
Outside, the air felt heavier.
"Amanda," he said.
She stopped, turning slowly. "Yes?"
"You heard something," he said flatly.
She laughed, short and bright. "Heard what? You sound dramatic."
His hand came up to her neck—not rough, not sudden. Just there. Claiming space. The pressure increased slightly with each word he spoke.
"You don't belong in adult matters," he said. "You wander too freely."
Amanda tilted her head, eyes amused. "Is that a threat or advice?"
His grip tightened a fraction more. His breath was sharp now. "You should learn fear."
Amanda's smile widened.
"You're using the wrong emotion," she said calmly.
That did it.
He shoved her back lightly and released her, anger flashing raw and ugly across his face. "Stay away," he spat, turning and walking back toward the house.
Amanda stood still until the door closed behind him.
Then her knees weakened.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out her inhaler, and took a slow breath. Then another. The world steadied.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Amanda straightened, slipped the inhaler away, and smiled—quiet, satisfied.
"Still haven't found the documents," she murmured. "Good."
She turned and walked off, hair swaying, already ten steps ahead of them.
Because now she knew exactly what they were afraid of.